


Provenance

by happydaygirl



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brotherly Love, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 21:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11952882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happydaygirl/pseuds/happydaygirl
Summary: Set in season 1- Porthos notices a grand portrait in the house of a Lord during a mission, and laments to the Inseparables how he has never had anything like that in his life and how fun it would be to pose for a portrait. This gives Aramis an idea, and soon he and the others hatch a plan to give Porthos the best gift ever...





	Provenance

It was during a mission when Porthos first sees them. Standing in the hallway of a prominent Lord whilst they waited for him to write a return letter to the King, he had been looking around the spacious area when a large, daunting portrait catches his eye.   
He looks up and sees three pairs of eyes staring at him; the Lord, his wife and young son, he assumes. He nudges Aramis, who has been gazing outside and sighing to himself that the afternoon sun was quickly passing by. The medic looks up at what his friend is pointing at. ‘Bet that cost a lot.’ He says with a smile and a small shake of his head. ‘These sort of people have more money than sense, my friend.’ He adds, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Porthos still looking up at it, mouth slightly open.  
‘I bet it would be a laugh posing for one,’ he finally whispers with a chuckle, imagining himself all trussed up in his Sunday best, staring ahead and trying to keep a straight face as someone paints him.  
‘It's not that fun, believe me.’ Athos, who is standing on his other side, points out. D’artagnan shakes his head from the other side of the corridor with a smile.  
‘Oh yeah, I forgot you used to live like this, didn't you?’ Porthos replies, standing up straighter to quell his aching muscles.  
‘I had one or two portraits commissioned, yes…’ Athos nods, to which Aramis barks out a laugh that echoes around the silent room.  
‘Come now, Athos,’ he mutters, his voice low as a maid puts her head round the door to check what was the matter. ‘I bet there was a whole room of your house entirely devoted to massive portraits of your own head!’  
‘Not quite.’ Athos’ voice is stiff as he tries to change the subject. ‘I wonder if Lord Mallon is finished yet…’   
Aramis chuckles quietly to himself as Athos turns away. He turns instead to Porthos, who is still looking up at the portrait. ‘You're really fascinated by it, aren't you?’ He whispers, a fond smile on his face.  
‘Well, it's just, I never had things like that growing up.’ Porthos shrugs. ‘We just had to make do with cracked mirrors to see what we looked like.’ He looks round as Aramis tries to stifle a chuckle.   
‘It's true! I bet it would be great, walking round and then seeing you and your family, all together.’ He says wistfully, before sighing. ‘But that sort of thing is for the elite, of which i am not.’ He mutters with a finality.  
They stand in silence until the Lord is finally ready, and soon they are on their way back to the city, an idea hatching in the brain of a certain medic.

Xxxx

As soon as Treville hears of the plan he wants to take part. He uses some palace connections and organises the relevant funds- soon the painter is chosen and the four men can put their plan into action.  
Treville sits first, in his office early in the morning. It takes a while, as he expects, however he knows his absence will not draw too much attention. He chooses to stand, staring authorotively at the painter as he sketches and paints.  
D’artagnan is the next to sit for his turn, standing awkwardly as the painter directs where to put his hands and in which direction to put his face. He quite enjoys it, he finds, although as his feet go slightly numb he wishes the painter would hurry up a little. He is quite pleased when he peers over the shoulder of the painter, before he is shooed away so he can continue his work.  
After a couple of days it is Aramis’ turn. It turned out to be quite hard to separate Porthos and the medic; in the end Athos and D'artagnan had dragged him to a tavern whilst promising that Aramis was doing very boring reporting work, of which he had a tight deadline and could not be disturbed.  
Aramis very much enjoys the process of posing for a portrait, and once the painter had stopped chuckling as Aramis lounges on the wooden chair, a sultry look on his face, and finally instructs him to be sensible and to stand up straight, the image is created without too much fuss.  
The final man to pose is Athos, who stands in practised pose, face slightly raised, hands crossed as he places them on the back of the chair. ‘Someone has done this before!’ The painter comments, however Athos does not reply, preferring to just let the man get on with his job.  
A week passes before they hear news that is ready, with Porthos suspecting absolutely nothing as the four men take turns darting back and forth into Treville’s office to look at the almost-finished product.  
‘Not bad, eh?’ Treville smiles, giving it an approving nod.  
‘I reckon he’ll really like it!’ D’artagnan grins.  
‘ it's no good-We’ll have to do it again!’ Aramis cries, shaking his head.  
‘What? Why?’ Athos mutters, frowning across at him.  
‘Well look at my hair- flat as a pancake on one side!’ Aramis groans, a smile playing on his lips. ‘There must have been a breeze…’  
‘It's fine, idiot.’ Athos replies, rolling his eyes as d’artagnan snickers.  
‘So, when are we showing it to him?’ Treville asks, putting a sheet on the portrait to shield it from dust and any prying eyes.  
‘Well, it's not his birthday for another two months,’ Aramis muses, standing back.  
‘We can’t wait until then, surely?’ D’artagnan asks, eyebrows raised.  
‘How about tonight?’ Athos asks, looking around at the others. ‘No time like the present.’  
‘Excellent- we can pretend we need to discuss something important. Yes, i’ll bring him up and we can all surprise him!’ Aramis agrees, before the four men troop out, hardly able to wait for later on.

Xxxxxx

 

‘Why can't you bring your very important papers down here?’ Porthos groans as he forces his tired legs up the wooden steps to Treville’s office. He had spent the whole day running errands for the King, and all he wanted was a good wash, a few drinks and a rest.  
‘I told you, it's very important you look at them up here!’ Aramis insists, waiting for him at the top of the steps. ‘Come on, look lively!’ He chuckles as Porthos gives him a mock-angry look.  
‘I’m coming, i’m coming…’ he mutters as he makes it to the top. ‘Where's Athos and the lad?’ He asks as he peers around. ‘Shouldn't they see this too, whatever is in these important papers?’  
Aramis merely smiles and opens the door to Treville’s office, walking in first into the middle of the room.  
Porthos frowns as he enters after him and catches sight of Treville, Athos and D’artagnan all stood by the Captain’s desk.  
‘Evening…’ he mutters, racking his brains to think of a reason they were here- he could see no papers on the desk.  
He looks round quizzically at Aramis as the medic shuts the door and comes to stand next to the others. It's then that he spots a large, rectangular shape, propped up on Treville’s chair and covered in a brown sheet.  
‘Its not my birthday.’ He says into the silence, suspicion in his voice.  
‘No,’ Athos agrees.  
‘It's not Christmas.’  
‘Definitely not.’ Nods d’artagnan with a smile on his face.  
‘Then what….?’  
‘Why don’t you take the sheet off?’ Treville says, a smile dancing on his own lips.  
Porthos steps forwards and grasps the sheet, and, in one fluid movement, pulls it off the portrait. As he looks at it his mouth opens into a silent o shape, before it dissolves into a huge smile as he takes it all in- the portait shows Treville, Athos, d’artagnan and Aramis all stood round the rough outline of a grand, black chair. They all look regal, like Kings, their likenesses perfect in every way.  
‘The chair is for you,’ Aramis mutters as he comes to stand next to his friend. ‘Claude, the artist, is coming tomorrow to paint you in, if you'd like?’ He leaves the question hanging, a smile on his lips as he watches porthos continue to stare at the portrait.  
After a few seconds he turns his eyes away, looking instead back at his friends, who cannot keep the smiles off their own faces.  
‘You did this for me?’ He asks them, voice low and emotion-laden.  
‘Nah, we just fancied posing for a massive picture to hang in the mess hall, you know?’ D’artagnan quips, which makes Athos snort.  
Porthos laughs too, before clearing his throat as Aramis puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Now you've got a picture of your family to look at,’ the medic whispers. ‘Just like you wanted.’  
At this, Porthos can only mutely nod and smile from ear to ear as he looks back at the portrait, mind already whirring about where he will put it. Above his fireplace in his living quarters would be perfect, he decides, before he tears himself away and looks back at his friends.  
‘I…don’t know what to say, lads…’ he mutters, unable to keep the grin off his face.  
‘You don’t have to say anything,’ Athos replies, a rare, completely genuine smile on his face. ‘It's our gift to you.’  
‘Cheers,’ Porthos nods, a love and affection for the men in front of him bubbling in his chest as each of his friends smile across at him. ‘This is the best present ever.’  
‘See, told you he’d like it.’ Aramis nods with a chuckle. Porthos turns to him and envelopes him in a hug, squeezing lightly as Aramis laughs and returns it.  
As they part Porthos sniffles, which makes Aramis laugh even more. ‘Don’t start crying, you need to look your best for the painter tomorrow!’ He mock-scolds, before the five men stand in a contented silence.  
‘Well, I think this calls for a drink.’ Athos announces after a few seconds.  
‘I’ll buy the first round!’ Porthos replies, chuckling.  
D’artagnan grins and rubs his hands together. ‘Whats the most expensive wine we could possibly order?’ He asks the room at large before they all start to troop out of the room. Porthos laughs deeply and, with one last fond glance at the portrait, he turns and claps the Gascon on the shoulder. ‘Careful lad, or you'll be drinking dishwater if you're not careful!’ He warns with a grin as they walk down the steps .  
Aramis is the last to leave as he fetches his hat from Treville's desk. He looks across at the portrait, a warm feeling fizzing in his chest, before he chuckles to himself as Porthos shouts at him to hurry up.  
He shuts the door with a snap, leaving the portrait alone in its glory, its image fading as the sun goes down as the five men have a well-deserved drink in one of the city taverns.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, please comment!


End file.
